Closer to Home
by Ellie Austin
Summary: Based on the short film, East of Kensington (2012, Dir. Kellen Moore). Please watch the film first. It is available on youtube and vimeo. Peter Pan's torment at the hands of an unstable adult continues.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Peter stared down at the lifeless, little creature in his hands. Her light had glimmered, then faded, and all that was left was a dull, cold husk.

Clutching Tinkerbell to his chest, Peter Pan dropped to his knees and wept; the grief manifesting in one heart-wrenching, mournful wail.

The boy tried to bite back the sobs, but he wasn't only grieving for his lost fairy; he was also grieving for himself.

How would he get home? He couldn't fly. He just knew he couldn't. Not now; not after having his mind filled with dark thoughts by that lunatic sitting behind him.

Michael had been sobbing on the floor, at the end of his brother's bed… But when he heard Peter's desperate cry, he had looked up, and realised the boy had not gone; had not left him again.

Wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, childishly, Michael got to his feet, and tentatively approached the weeping boy.

'Peter?'

The child grew still, but did not turn or look around; he kept his eyes cast on the fairy corpse he still held.

Michael grew a little confident, 'You can't fly now, can you?'

He sounded smug, not needing an answer, so Peter grew angry.

'You killed her!', he screamed, standing and turning to face the man. Michael looked like he had been slapped. 'You pulled off her wing… and put her in that jar… it's _your_ fault!'

'It wasn't me; it was you!' Michael yelled, his momentary upset at the boy's words, gone. ' _You_ must have stopped believing.'

'Of course I didn't!' It was Peter's turn to look outraged.

Looking back down at the body of his loyal friend, the tears welled up once more, and Peter sat down heavily, on the edge of the window seat.

Michael knelt down in front of him. 'Don't worry Peter… we can play a game!'

His voice was suddenly so full of excitement, Peter looked up and stared at him in disgust. Michael seemed not to notice.

'What shall we play? Hunting grizzlies? Fighting pirates?'

Peter continued to stare at the man for a moment, then returned his attention to Tinkerbell. Michael's eye twitched in irritation; perhaps jealousy. Standing up and moving forward, he went to snatch the fairy away… but Peter grabbed hold of his hand, trying to push him back.

'NO! Don't touch her!' The scuffle between them didn't last long. Michael soon prized Tink's corpse away, and dashed from the nursery with it.

'NO!', Peter screamed once more, running to catch up with the man as he hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen.

'Give her back!… Please!' The boy desperately tried to grab the fairy back, but Michael just kept pushing him away.

Reaching the sink, he dropped the tiny body into it, and turned on the tap, which blasted into life with violent ferocity.

'NOOO!' Peter's scream, then, was even more desperate and pleading than the last. But it was too late. All the wretched child could do was lean against the sink, and look down into the plug hole's black depths. She was gone, forever. Just like Wendy.

Tears, again, streaked Peter Pan's face… and he felt numb.

'You can play with _me_ , now, Peter,' Michael's voice was calm, but creepy. Peter couldn't think; he didn't know what to do. 'It will be fun.' Peter did not move.

'Let's go and finish the Indian ceremony...' He gestured towards the hallway, but Peter still did not respond.

The man grew frustrated, and grabbed the boy by the wrist.

Peter immediately flew into action, passionately trying to resist Michael's grasp pulling him towards the stairs.

'Let go of me, you murderer!'

Michael ignored the yells, and kicks, and punches, and dragged Peter back upstairs, wrestling him into one of the other bedrooms, and pinning him down on the bed.

This room was gloomy, despite the daylight outside; it was quite small, and all it's windows were pasted over with sun-aged newspaper. As in the rest of the house, bits and pieces were strewn about, and Michael grabbed up some rope from amongst the clutter, to tie Peter's hands.

Once bound, Peter felt Michael release him, and the room grew still and silent.

'Thank you for not leaving me, Peter.' Michael whispered, eventually, 'I knew you wouldn't go.'

Peter managed to sit up and turn just in time to see the door slamming shut behind Michael as he left.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Annabel Lanley enjoyed her work; she felt like she was truly helping people. It also got her out of the house… and that was the only payment she needed. Her husband didn't understand. Doug wouldn't lift a finger if there wasn't a pay-check waiting for his trouble… unless it was to make Annabel happy; she knew he'd do anything to make her smile.

Walking along the quiet street, she thought about the nursery. It might seem a little premature to some, but Anna knew she would eventually fill the spare bedroom of her little terraced house with children of her own. She and Doug just needed to be patient. In the meantime, she would indulge in furnishing and decorating the cosy space. And she could take her time; a cot one month… some wallpaper the next. Money wasn't exactly flowing in, but they managed.

Offering her time as a volunteer community carer also distracted her from her concerns, financial and otherwise. And it was far better than waiting for a paying job to surface. She knew she wouldn't be able to stand working in a factory for long… and that was all that ever seemed available. No… she would rather volunteer for the time being.

Annabel halted and beheld the large Georgian town house that now stood before her. Taking in it's impressive but dishevelled façade, she let out a long sigh; one of her more troublesome cases lived here.

Anna had been assigned Michael Darling over a month ago, but as of yet, she still hadn't met him. He never would open the door for her, but she was convinced he wasn't looking after himself properly; the house and garden where in obvious disarray, and Mr Darling himself rarely emerged, according to neighbours. Sometimes, he wouldn't be seen leaving the house for a fortnight or more… and he certainly didn't seem to purchase enough food to properly sustain himself for that long.

Visibly bracing herself with a deep sigh, Annabel opened the little garden gate, hanging crooked on its hinges, and began along the weed-ridden path.

Peter was staring at the ceiling, watching the small tendrils of sunlight that managed to penetrate the papered windows. His hands were still tied, and the door of the room was locked. He felt strangely calm as he plotted his escape. Perhaps 'numb' would be a better word for it. His dearest and most loyal companion was dead. Not only that, but Wendy was also gone forever. Peter felt utterly alone.

At first, Peter's mind didn't take notice of the sound of knocking; he was too absorbed in misery. But when the loud chiming of the aged doorbell broke through the silence of the house, Peter realised what it meant; someone was at the door.

No sooner had Peter started shouting, sitting up to beat his bound hands against the nearest window, than the sound of frantic footfall began. The boy's desperation and calls for help intensified as Michael burst through the door, and grabbed him.

"HELP! HELP ME..." Peter's voice was cut off as Michael clamped a hand over the child's mouth, and squeezed.

Anna glanced up at the house. She had heard something. The sound of muffled screams, and someone banging on one of the many windows. She was sure that's what she had heard… but there was no sign of anyone now. The house had fallen silent. But for a moment, there had been life; she knew someone was at home.

Stooping forward, she lifted the flap of the front door's mail slot and peered into the gloom of the hallway beyond.

"Hello? Mr Darling?" She was not surprised when she received no answer.

"It's Mrs Lanley… your community volunteer. May I come in?"

The house now seemed abandoned, without sound or movement. But Annabel was not so easily put off.

Peter sobbed as he desperately tried to fight against the crushing weight of Michael, lying on top of him, pinning him down, a hand still covering his mouth. He could sense Michael's fear; the man was tense, concentrating more on the window than the boy he was restraining.

"Mr Darling… I really must insist on seeing you." Still more silence.

"At least let me know that you are alright. Mr Darling?!"

Annabel let out an aggravated sigh as she stepped back, letting the mail slot close, and looking up, once again, at the imposing house. She was convinced Michael Darling was in there; he was simply refusing to cooperate. She had been warned about him by her colleagues; he would never open the door without a fight.

Deciding she had wasted enough time, Anna reluctantly turned and made her way back along the path to the pavement, telling herself this would be the last time Mr Darling would be allowed to avoid meeting with her.

Michael and Peter both heard the un-oiled creak of the gate closing in the front garden below, and Peter was suddenly released as his captor scurried to the window to confirm what they had heard.

He let out a sigh of relief, "She's gone."

Peter rolled himself upright, and edged away from the man.

"Blasted woman… why can't they all just leave us alone?!" He turned then, and saw a terrified boy staring back at him.

Michael shifted uneasily and glanced at his own feet, disturbed by the look of trepidation in Peter's face.

"Well then… no harm done… but you must never make noise like that again, Peter."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Peter watched as Michael worked; nailing board after board across each and every window… barring any means of escape for the boy.

The new measure did mean that Michael seemed happy to release Peter's hands from their bonds, and allow the boy some freedom to move about the house… but Peter felt like he was in a cage, and he was desperate to get out.

"There..." Michael stood back to admire his handy-work, and Peter felt his heart sink a little more at the sight of the boarded-up nursery window; the window he had first entered so many years ago.

Against his will, Peter's thoughts drifted back to Wendy, and the terrible tale Michael had told of her fate. The idea that she had been taken away and imprisoned stabbed at his heart… but he quickly pushed the emotion away with a sharp intake of breath.

Then he realised Michael had turned and was starring at him. Peter felt uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny, and shifted his weight awkwardly.

"Let's play a game!" A huge grin appeared on Michael's face; an expression that was not mirrored by the boy before him.

Instead, Peter appeared full of reluctance… but he was anxious not to anger his unpredictable captor.

"I'm quite tired..." Michael's smile fell away as Peter made his excuses.

"Perhaps later..."

"No, Peter! Why wait? Let's play something now!"

Michael moved towards the boy, and Peter hurriedly stepped backwards. Then both halted, and became motionless; the man beseeching, the child fearfully conceiving a crude plan.

"Very well. Let's play… hide and seek."

Michael literally jumped up and down with glee.

"Oh, yes! Hide and seek! I _love_ hide and seek!" He clapped his hands excitedly, as a young boy might, and Peter allowed his confidence to grow.

"Excellent. You may hide first. I'll count to one hundred."

Peter turned his face to the wall and covered his eyes, about to start the count… but fear suddenly filled him as he felt Michael grab his shoulders roughly, and spin him back to face him.

The man's face was only inches from Peter's own, and Michael's eyes were filled with anger and suspicion.

"You don't really want to play with me at all! You're pretending. You just want me out of the way so you can try to leave!"

Peter tried to pull back from Michael's grasp, but the adult was too strong.

"You nasty, selfish liar!"

"No! Michael! I _will_ play with you. Please… Let go of me! You're hurting!"

"How dare you try to trick me! You're so ungrateful."

Michael's grasp tightened, until Peter could bear it no more; he wriggled and lashed out with his fists until the man finally paused. But Michael had not stilled because of Peter; the sound of the doorbell had, once again, sounded, and it seemed to freeze Michael to the spot.

Peter blinked, also surprised by the sudden noise and its effect on Michael. After another anxious moment of listening, Michael roughly shoved Peter further into the nursery, releasing him so that he stumbled and almost fell. When Peter managed to keep his footing and looked back at his captor, Michael put a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence, then rushed from the room, slamming the door shut and locking it.

Peter immediately sprang at the door and pulled at its handle, trying desperately to tug it open. When that failed he paused to listen, and could hear Michael's footfalls reverberating through the house, and the doorbell being rung again.

Hearing muffled voices, Peter realised Michael had reached the front door, and time was running out for Peter to alert the caller to his plight.

Dashing across the room, Peter grabbed up the hammer that Michael had left discarded, and began trying to wrench the wooden boards from the nursery window with it. At the same time, he shouted at the top of his voice, desperately hoping he would be heard.

Standing with the front door opened just enough to peer out at the man on the doorstep, Michael flinched as the sound of Peter's screams reached him. The postman's manner clearly altered, and he couldn't help but glance up at the house as its owner finished writing his signature, and took the parcel from the postman's outstretched hands.

Michael stared at the man, trying to gage his reaction. He obviously had heard the noise, and seemed to grow uncomfortable and eager to be on his way. Catching his eye, Michael tried to give him an amicable smile, and muttered, "Kids..."

The postman awkwardly grinned back, then turned and walked briskly back to the road.

Peter had managed to pry one of the boards away from the window, and was desperately banging on the glass as he watched the man leave. He _must_ have heard him! Why was he leaving? Peter felt his hope fade once more… replaced by fear at the realisation that Michael would return at any moment.

As if on cue, the nursery door burst open and Michael marched in. Seeing Peter still standing before the window, with the hammer still in one hand and his other pressed against the exposed glass, Michael flew at him.

"I told you not to make any noise! How dare you defy me?!"

Peter made to smash the window with the hammer, but Michael had hold of him before he could strike a blow.

"Let go of me!"

Peter struggled in the man's grasp as Michael dragged him towards the nursery door. In desperation Peter swung the hammer, and was startled when it connected with Michael, who screamed in anger as well as pain, dropping the boy to the floor.

Holding his shoulder where the pain had blossomed, Michael looked down at Peter with a look of betrayal. Then frustration and contempt burned in his eyes, and he dragged the boy to his feet and frantically shook him until tears streamed down Peter's face.

Seeming to suddenly notice the state of the child cowering before him, Michael loosened his grip and let his face soften. An expression of concern came upon him as he realised Peter wouldn't look him in the eye, and was continuing to weep silently.

"Peter,"

Michael drew Peter towards him and wrapped his arms around the boy. Peter did not resist Michael's embrace, too frightened and exhausted to upset the man any further.

"Peter, you shouldn't have made so much noise. You could have spoiled everything. I only want to keep you safe. We can be happy here… together."

Having had a few moments to calm himself, still in Michael's embrace, Peter took a deep breath, and tried a long shot;

"Please, Michael… I just want to go home. Please let me go home."

Michael pulled back so he could look the boy in the eye. Peter saw the man's face was filled with what looked like surprise and confusion.

"But Peter… You are home."

"No… Michael, please… I want to go home to Neverland."

Again, the man looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"But Peter… This _is_ Neverland."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Peter's concern grew as Michael dragged him from room to room, trying to convince him that the old, ramshackle house was his beloved island.

"And see..." insisted Michael, as he opened the door to a bathroom and ushered Peter over to the tub, "Here is Mermaid Lagoon."

Peter looked up at Michael in complete disbelief. He stared at the man, who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, so proud of the nonsense he was spouting.

But Peter would not play. He couldn't. He needed to escape.

When Michael met his gaze, and realised the boy was staring at him with derision, Michael's smile slipped, and he dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling a little ashamed.

"You're mad."

The statement caused Michael's gaze to rise again, and lock with Peter's. The insult stabbed at him, and he stuttered as he announced his denial.

"I am not. How dare you?"

"You're completely mad!"

Michael's eyes flashed with anger.

"It's your fault you're here!" he screamed, letting his temper boil over, "We should all be happy, playing in Neverland… together. But you abandoned us. You abandoned _her_. And now she's dead! It's your fault she's dead!"

Peter took only a second to retaliate. The unfairness of Michael's blame raised his own temper.

"I told Wendy to stay with me! She left. It's her own fault she's dead!"

Peter gasped at the force of Michael's hand, slapping him across the face. Then silence fell over both of them, and Peter eyed the man fearfully.

"How _dare_ you speak of her?!" Michael moved to exit, but paused and lowered his voice;

"You promised to come back for her."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Anna felt a deep reluctance as she approached the Darling house, once again. It had only been two days since her failed appointment, but it would have been negligent to ignore the concerns of Keith, especially after she had persuaded him not to get the police involved.

Keith had been good friends with Doug since they were boys, growing up on the same street. Now they would often enjoy a pint together after Doug had finished his shift and Keith had completed his deliveries. Annabel suspected Doug was a little envious of Keith's occupation as postman… but he would never admit it. It was just the sort of thing Doug would enjoy; lots of fresh air… local people to chat to... But it didn't pay as well as the Mill.

She felt the nagging guilt come upon her then, thinking of Doug slaving away to put food on the table and pay the rent on time… while she was out working for free. But she brushed those thoughts aside. As long as she was doing some good, it was worth it. Once a decent paying occupation turned up, perhaps Doug could start looking for a job he'd enjoy as well. By then, Anna would be expecting, and everything would be perfect.

Letting her mind slip back to the unfinished nursery, and the pretty material she was saving up for to make bedding for the cot, a smile appeared on Annabel's face, and she almost forgot why she was walking along that quiet Georgian street.

Soon enough, though, her feet came to a stop at the gate of Number 14, and her thoughts snapped back to the present.

Peter sat on the worn mattress, watching the old man who had once been little Michael Darling. It was so quiet and peaceful when the man slept; Peter could hear the house breathing.

Despite his appearance, Michael certainly acted like a child; even as he slept, he kept his Teddy clutched tight. But Peter wasn't sure whether he still truly had the mind of a small boy, or if it was just a desperate pretend; a denial of his obvious adulthood.

At first, Peter had thought that it didn't really matter, either way… but then it occurred to him that it made a great deal of difference; if Michael had the mind of a child, Peter would have to treat him differently than if he were a grown-up with a vendetta.

Perhaps that was what this was… Revenge for Wendy.

But Michael seemed to genuinely want Peter's approval and companionship. If he had wanted revenge, why hadn't he just killed him?

It was all too strange for Peter to fathom. All he knew for sure was that Michael was dangerous, and he needed to get home.

It had been days since anyone had come to the house. It was difficult to tell exactly how long it had been, especially when he had spent much of it cooped up in the dark little papered room in which he now sat… But he had slept a few times since his capture.

No… his attempts to raise the alarm with the outside world had obviously failed, and he would need to think of another means of escape.

Peering more closely at the man to be sure, Peter was satisfied that Michael was in a deep sleep. Tentatively, the boy stood and tiptoed his way to the bedroom door.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sheer surprise froze Peter to the spot as the house was filled with the echoing sound of the bell. That surprise was almost immediately replaced with panic, though, and Peter abandoned his attempts to be quiet, and ran.

He made it to the landing before he was caught. He called out in pain as the full weight of Michael crashed into him, and crushed him against the wall.

The man hurriedly stifled the boy's scream with one hand while wrapping his other arm around the youth's waist. Peter desperately tried to pull himself free of the man's embrace, but Michael squeezed him into submission… and both fell silent.

Michael's eyes darted about as he strained to listen, while keeping hold of the fighting child. At first, silence reined throughout the house… but the peace was shattered as that woman's voice called out once again.

"Mr Darling… It's Annabel Lanley, Mr Darling. I was here the other day..."

Peter tried to calm his breathing, beginning to feel almost light-headed from the adrenaline that still filled him. If he could only get free and call out for help. If he could only get to the door. He could see it clearly, only twenty feet or so in front of him at the bottom of the stairs. But Michael was holding him tightly, and showed no sign of relaxing his grip.

The man let out a gasp and quickly dragged Pet backwards as they saw the mail slot in the door open.

"Mr Darling?" Annabel looked deep into the murky depths of the old house for any sign of life.

"Mr Darling, I'm only here to help. Please let me in."

Nothing.

Anna let the mail slot close and stood, considering a new tactic. She didn't like it… it almost seemed like a threat. But Keith's words came back to her; "I could have sworn I heard someone shouting for help."

Anna was sure there would be an innocent explanation… but if she didn't find out, she would be obliged to inform the police of what Keith had witnessed.

"Mr Darling, if you do not let me in to confirm you are alright I will be forced to contact the police."

If it were possible, Michael seemed to tense even more. A few moments passed as the man considered his options, and Peter could sense his eyes upon him.

Making up his mind, Michael began to wrestle the boy down the stairs. Peter fought, of course; grabbing onto the banister and trying to plant his feet… But the man was too determined, and was soon dragging the child towards the kitchen, willing the mail slot to remain shut while they were in its field of view.

Having managed to reach the kitchen, Michael continued to drag the boy over to the cabinets. Needing it, the man reluctantly removed his right hand from the boys mouth, but kept his other arm locked securely around the child.

Peter inevitably started shouting, so Michael searched quickly. Sure enough, the bottle was where he had expected. Using a dishcloth, Michael poured a little of the contents out then let the bottle fall, ignoring the glug of the liquid as it spilled out across the floor. Grabbing up the soaked rag, he quickly clamped it over the boy's mouth.

Peter tried to scream as he felt Michael's hand return to his face, the cloth covering his mouth and nose. But almost immediately he felt the familiar sensation of loosing all strength and slipping out of consciousness.

"Mr Darling?" Anna was close to giving up. Perhaps she should have gone to the police straight away. Perhaps there was something wrong. Mr Darling's neighbours hadn't seen him since before her last visit… so perhaps something had happened to him.

But then she heard something. Opening up the mail slot once again, she caught a brief glimpse of a figure disappearing down the hall.

"Mr Darling? Mr Darling, please just let me in. I won't keep you long… Mr Darling?"

When no response came, she stood once more. Well, at least she knew he hadn't died. Sighing in frustration and defeat, Anna turned away. The only thing she could do now was to ask the police for their assistance.

She was at the gate when she heard the sound of the front door unlocking and creaking open. Turning abruptly, she beheld an elderly gentlemen peering at her irritably from the house.

She was so surprised that she stood dumbstruck until the man shifted his feet uncomfortably and looked as though he was about to retreat.

"Mr Darling?" Anna almost had to shake her own head to clear it. She walked back towards the gentleman until she stood before him. He was looking her over suspiciously.

Despite his unwelcoming manner, Anna smiled warmly at him and offered her hand… which he shook reluctantly.

"My name is Annabel Lanley. I'm your community volunteer."

Michael continued to observe her, obviously unimpressed, and Anna wavered a little, absent-mindedly biting her bottom lip. When the man still didn't speak, she glanced over his shoulder and into the house.

"May I come in?"

"No. I'm busy."

The man's voice was so abrupt and cold that Anna was taken aback… But she took s deep breath to steady her nerves.

"Mr Darling, I really must insist on inspecting your home. I have to satisfy myself and my colleagues that you are coping well."

"'Coping'? What do you mean, 'coping'?"

"We need to make sure that you are looking after yourself, Mr Darling."

"Of course I'm bloody looking after myself! I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"Please, Mr Darling… I don't mean any disrespect. There's no shame in needing a little help..."

"I don't need any help. I just want to be left alone!"

"I can't do that, Mr Darling."

Silence fell over them as Anna stood her ground and Michael waited to see if she would break. When she didn't, he sighed in annoyance.

"Well… you can come in… but not today. I wasn't expecting you."

Anna considered this more a moment; one the one hand, being invited in was a breakthrough, and agreeing to Mr Darling's request might build some trust between them… On the other, this could easily be a ploy to get rid of her, and he may never open the door to her again. If that happened, however, she would just go to the police, as she would have done if he hadn't answered the door that day. It seemed like a risk worth taking.

"Very well, Mr Darling." Anna held out her hand to him once more, "I will return in a week."

Taking a moment to consider, Michael eventually shook her hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It seemed as though days had past again, but Peter had remained trapped.

After Michael had subdued him with chloroform for the second time, Peter had been unconscious for hours, and it had been the middle of the night when he had finally come to, disturbed to find himself shut in the small dark room where Michael had revealed his identity and told the story of Wendy's fate.

That had been at least three days ago, by Peter's reckoning, and no means of escape had presented itself. Although Peter had been allowed to move about the house freely again, Michael rarely left him alone for long, and was always lurking somewhere in the house. And even when Peter was alone, he was convinced Michael was watching him.

It had come to the stage where Peter thought he would go mad; he was tired… he was hungry… and he was getting desperate.

He needed to think of a way to get Michael out of the way… or to keep him distracted long enough for Peter to escape. If he could get Michael out of the house for a while, that would be perfect. But how?

Michael was scuttling about the kitchen, attempting to clean up again before that woman came back. Peter watched from the doorway, then let his eyes fall to the dining table in the centre of the room. His gaze focused on the tiny wing that still lay on it, and his heart jerked with grief as he remembered the fairy it had belonged to. Hanging from the chair nearby was Michael's Indian headdress…

That an idea occurred to the boy. A plan suddenly formed.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and keep his voice casual, Peter stepped further into the kitchen.

"I've been thinking..."

"Hmm?" Michael absent-mindedly acknowledged the boy without looking up from his task of hunting down cutlery.

"Perhaps…" Peter felt his nerve waver, so took another deep breath before forcing himself to continue, wary of the man's temper.

"Perhaps there is a way you could fly." The boy flinched as Michael swiftly spun round to face him, letting several knives, forks and spoons fall from his hands and crash onto the tile floor.

"To fly?"

"Y-yes." the frightened child stammered.

The piercing stare Michael had fixed him with was deeply unnerving, but Peter knew he couldn't stop now; the man wouldn't let him.

"When I was really small, I lived in Kensington Gardens with the birds. When I got too big and forgot how to fly, they asked the fairies to help me..."

"There were fairies in Kensington Gardens?"

Peter nodded anxiously, growing increasingly uncomfortable under the man's intense gaze.

"There were then… and they might still be there now. Pixie dust might not work on you any more, but if you found enough fairies, they could carry you."

"Carry me?"

"Yes… They're very strong. You'd probably only need five or six to manage it."

Peter squirmed as he waited for Michael to respond. The man seemed to have turned to stone, except for the occasional blink.

Suddenly he stepped forward and was standing very close… much too close for Peter. The boy was about to step back, and had to fight down the instinct to scream when Michael grabbed hold of his arms.

"You really think… if we find some fairies… we'll be able to leave? Together?"

"Yes. Of course."

Another long moment past, and Peter forced himself to keep eye contact.

"Then there's not a minute to loose!"

Peter was released and watched as Michael hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I must go prepared!" he called back, returning quickly with a butterfly net in hand.

Peter couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face at the thought of how clever his plan was; it was working perfectly.

"Good thinking." he said encouragingly, reassured by the beaming grin Michael wore.

"Let's go."

He started to walk to the front door, but Michael put out an arm to stop him.

"You can't come, Peter."

"What?!" The boy was indignant. "But it was _my_ idea!"

Michael dropped the net and grabbed Peter's arms again, crouching so they stood nose to nose, staring into each other's eyes. Again, Peter had to fight back the urge to look away as Michael's gaze pierced into him.

"You don't want to find fairies..." he proclaimed, after a long moment of silence. "You just want me to let you outside so you can escape!" Michael's voice steadily filled with anger until he was growling through his teeth.

"No… Michael! I want to help..."

"You liar!"

Peter gritted his own teeth as pain shot through his arms, the man squeezing them too tightly.

"Michael, please! You're hurting me!"

Peter screamed again and started to struggle as Michael dragged him back into the kitchen and forced the boy into a chair.

"Ow! Stop! What are you doing?!"

The man ignored the child's words until he had finished securing him to the chair with the rope that still lay there from his capture. Satisfied that the knots were sound, Michael finally responded;

"You will stay here while _I_ go and hunt for fairies."

"But I can help!"

"No, Peter. I cannot trust you. It will be better if I go alone."

"But…" Peter searched desperately for an argument. "But… What if someone comes to the house?! When you're gone?"

"You'll just have to be quiet, won't you."

"What if I won't?"

Peter almost immediately regretted his words as Michael looked at him in astonishment. He had obviously taken it as a threat.

"Good point." he said at last.

Walking to the worktop, he picked up a wash rag, and Peter's heart sunk. He didn't think he could bear being knocked out again; he always felt terrible when he'd finally wake up.

Michael looked about for the chloroform… then froze as he noticed the bottle on the floor, and the useless pool that surrounded it. Glancing up at Peter with a perturbed look in his eye, he marched forward, grabbed up a roll of duct-tape from the table, and forced the wash cloth into Peter's mouth.

The boy had never seen duct tape before, and was startled by the load sound it made as Michael pulled at it. He quickly ripped a piece off and stuck it over Peter's mouth, preventing the boy from spitting out the cloth.

Thus tied and gagged, Peter could only watch as Michael retrieved the butterfly net, donned his coat, and left the house.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

No one came to the house while Michael was gone. Peter spent the time struggling to loosen his bonds, but the ropes still gripped his wrists tightly when he finally heard the sound of Michael returning.

He saw the silhouette of the man pass by the kitchen doorway; hunched and furtive. After a few minutes, Michael entered the kitchen, but wouldn't make eye contact with his captive.

Still looking away, he finally approached the boy and untied him. Peter's hands immediately flew up to remove the gag, but he was horrified to feel the tape pull at his skin. Panic began to fill him as the sticky substance refused to yield without painful consequence.

Michael suddenly noticed Peter's predicament and grabbed hold of the boy. Peter screamed through his gag and tried to get away… but Michael held him in place. With one hand on the child's shoulder, he grabbed one end of the tape with the other and swiftly ripped it from the boy's mouth, the skin reddening angrily were the tape had been. Peter screamed through the rag still in his mouth, in shock as much as pain… but the pain quickly lessened and became only a soreness.

Spitting out the rest of the gag, Peter looked up at Michael, shock still filling him. The man gave him a weak smile, then turned away and walked from the room.

After a few moments, Peter came to his senses and went after him, remembering Michael's quest. Surely he had not succeeded in finding a fairy?!

"Well? Did you find any?"

"Let's play a game!"

"Michael! Did you find a fairy?!"

"What shall we play?"

The boy grew visibly frustrated. This man was more infuriating than the most petulant of children. The Michael Peter remembered had never been like that. True, Peter could barely remember any of the Darlings beyond their names… but he did remember how each child had made him feel. And Michael had always been quite endearing, even to Peter Pan.

The man he had become was cruel and deranged. Peter was becoming increasingly convinced that his pretence of childhood was just that; a pretend. This man knew he was grown-up. And he surely knew that the true Neverland was barred to him.

Noticing Michael was still staring at him intently, awaiting an answer, Peter looked down at his feet which were awkwardly shuffling. He cursed himself for looking so weak and pathetic in front of his captor… but continued to look away.

"I'm hungry," was the child's eventual, mumbled response.

"You're hungry?" Michael blinked as his scattered mind made sense of the boy's strange answer.

"Oh!" The sudden delight and animation in the man caused Peter to finally look back up at him. Had Peter's words caused the excitement? He had expected Michael to shout or beat him… but the adult looked ecstatic, like a child who had been given a surprise gift.

"What an excellent idea! We'll have a feast!"

Peter felt his empty stomach gurgle in anticipation. He almost never felt hunger in Neverland, and the uncommon sensation was truly unpleasant.

The boy managed not to cry out as Michael suddenly grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him back to the kitchen. Gently pushing Peter into his seat at the table, Michael turned his back to the child and started rummaging through the cupboards.

Peter waited patiently as Michael placed a plate and cutlery before him, then sat himself down opposite. It took a moment for the boy to realise that Michael had apparently finished his task, and was now looking at him expectantly.

Peter stared down at the empty plate in front of him… then felt tears prick his eyes as realisation dawned on him; they were playing a game.

"No..." Peter stopped his protest as his voice cracked; He wouldn't cry in front of the man if he could help it.

"What?"

"Michael… I really am hungry. I mean… _really_ hungry."

The man looked on, perplexed.

"Well then… you better tuck in!"

Peter could bare it no longer, and the adult faltered as he watched the boy before him start to sob.

"What's wrong, Peter?"

Michael's voice was gentle, but his words did nothing to sooth the child. Peter kept his head bowed as he quietly wept.

"Peter..." The man was growing uncomfortable, "Don't cry..."

"Please, Michael..." The boy's words were broken and interspersed with sniffles and gasping breaths as he fought to control himself, "I'm so thirsty… at least let me have something to drink!"

"Of course, Peter."

As the boy watched the man lift the empty jug from the centre of the table and tilt it over an empty glass, something inside him snapped.

"No, Michael! I need a _real_ drink of _real_ water!"

Michael froze, jug hovering in mid-air, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"I'm not playing! I _won't_ play with you! I'll _never_ play with you!"

Peter realised he was no longer crying; his anger had driven away his tears. But then Michael blinked, and the man's expression grew darker.

Slamming down the jug, he let out a growl that caused Peter to shrink back into his seat.

"You… nasty, wicked, evil..."

Michael was suddenly on his feet and Peter couldn't help cowering. But instead of advancing towards the boy, Michael turned and swiftly left the room.

Peter remained in place for a moment, surprised to be suddenly alone… but he couldn't ignore the opportunity for long; he really was so hungry and thirsty. And although he had no means of filling his stomach, the kitchen tap did offer him some relief.

Hurrying over to it, he tried turning the taps until the spout burst into life and he was able to guzzle down the cold, stale water that poured from it.

The relief and refreshment was immense, and Peter felt himself calming.

No sooner had he quenched his thirst, however, than Michael reappeared in the doorway. Peter had no time to react before Michael roughly grabbed him away from the sink and turned off the tap.

Peter tensed again, but felt almost sick with fear.

"You cheated!"

"What? No… Michael… I wasn't playing..."

"You're a nasty, spoilt cheater!"

"No! Please!"

Peter hadn't the strength to fight back as Michael grabbed hold of his arm, painfully, and roughly dragged him from the room.

"You're evil! You killed her! It was _your_ fault! And now… you're torturing _me_! Is that why you came back? To finish me off as well?! To torment me?! You're wicked! WICKED!"

"No! Michael!"

Peter had no chance of responding before Michael had pulled him over to the small junk room where Wendy's portrait lay. Once again, Peter found himself locked within, his cries ignored.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Peter heard Michael first; a strange, melancholy moaning as the man approached the locked closet door.

"Peter?" The voice was so low the boy could barely make out the words, "I'm sorry, Peter."

The child shielded his eyes and stumbled back as the light of the opening door pierced through the gloom of the closet.

Michael stood in the doorway, his hand outstretched and hopeful, "Please forgive me, Peter. I didn't mean to loose my temper."

Peter wanted to scowl, but he was feeling so shaken that he couldn't keep his eyes from tearing or his lip from trembling.

"Please, Michael… I want to go home. Please, let me go home."

It was a half-hearted plea, sure to fall on deaf ears. And true enough, the look of near astonishment that appeared on the man's face made Peter want to weep all the more.

"But Peter… you are home."

Suddenly turning away and wondering back towards the kitchen, Michael began muttering under his breath and Peter's anxiety didn't diminish. He had been right; the man was completely insane.

Mustering the courage, the boy crept out of the confined box-room and followed his captor.

"Michael..." Peter hated how weak and pathetic his own voice sounded. He wished he were as brave as he had thought himself to be. He had battled with blood-thirsty pirates, for heaven's sake! Why was this adult so terrifying? Because he is completely unpredictable, he answered himself.

Seeing now that the man was bustling about the kitchen, and hadn't noticed the boy, Peter willed himself to speak more assertively, "Michael." The man turned and peered at him, "I really am very hungry… For real food."

Michael looked so disappointed; even sad.

"Then I shall make you something."

He recommenced ransacking the kitchen cabinets, mumbling to himself as he did so. But it soon became clear that his search was in vain.

Peter slumped into a chair, his eyes downcast, the emptiness of his stomach becoming evermore difficult to ignore.

"Tell you what," Michael tried to sound cheerful in the hope it would lift the boy's spirits, "I'll just nip out to the shops and find us something. It won't take long."

The child sniffed and looked up at the man, then gave a weak smile.

Michael sprang into action then, hurrying to get his coat and hat from their place by the front door. He seemed in such haste that Peter began to calculate the possibility of escaping while Michael was out. The windows were boarded, but there was still a chance of finding another way.

As if Peter had been thinking too loudly, Michael suddenly stopped and turned to stare at the boy. Marching back into the kitchen, he grabbed up the rope once more and quickly Peter stood.

"Sit, Peter. I can't leave you alone unless I tie you up."

The boy began walking backwards, away from the man, shaking his head slowly.

"Peter, if you don't make a fuss and promise to be quiet I won't gag you."

This made Peter pause. Remembering the vile dish rag in his mouth was enough to comply… but if, by chance, someone did come to the house while Michael was out, they would be sure to hear his cries for help.

Reluctantly, Peter sat himself back on the chair and allowed Michael to bind him to it.

"Do you promise you'll stay quiet?"

"I promise."


End file.
